


Reunion

by battle_cat



Series: Together [28]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Morning Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 17:04:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5673769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/battle_cat/pseuds/battle_cat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Did you miss me?” A low rumble against her neck between kisses.</p><p>“Always.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reunion

He is due back by sunset.

She sits in the sniper post with Eves, silent and tense, as night falls and there is no car on the horizon.

A few hours late is not yet cause to worry. And there is no point in sending out a search party before morning.

She tells herself these things repeatedly as the stars spread over the sky.

In the beginning, he had left compulsively, shaking loose every time he got too settled and refusing to say anything about a return, and she had swallowed back her fears and buried the loneliness in the million tasks that always needed to be done, tried to exhaust herself so she didn’t feel it at night.

He had always returned.

And gradually, together, they had bent the leaving to a purpose: surveillance missions and far-flung scouts and other tasks suited to someone who operated alone and drove a fast and seemingly immortal car. And slowly the stays at the Citadel had become longer, the absences shorter and less abrupt and even sometimes of pre-determined lengths, until she could honestly believe him when he said he would be back.

But she is not so foolish as to think that anyone’s luck holds forever. Not even his. And she knows that it would be so easy for something to happen far from Citadel territory, and that would be it, and she might never even know.

The stars have spun past midnight with no sign of him when Eves says, “Get some rest. I’ll send someone running the minute I spot him.”

 

She has a lock on her door now, not just the heavy bolt she controls from the inside. It’s a formidable thing, drilled through wood and attached to a thick metal frame secured into the rock wall, and Max is the only other person who has a key.

She still sleeps better with the bolt. But she sleeps best of all with him next to her, so tonight she shoves down anxiety and leaves the door locked but not bolted, just in case.

She sleeps badly.

In the very early hours of the morning, before daybreak, she wakes to a key turning in the lock. She knows it’s him by scent and gait and a hundred other familiar sensory details, but she still scrambles upright against the wall out of instinct, her hand reaching for weapons long since put out of reach.

“S’me,” he mutters when he sees her shadowy form jump in the dark. Then, when she doesn’t move, “M’okay.”

She hears the sounds of him hanging up his jacket and dropping his pack by the door. She swallows once, breathes deep to shake loose the lingering grip of fear, half old instinct and half genuine worry about him.

“You’re late,” she says, and she’s relieved to hear her voice come out light and even.

“Mm. Ran into a bit of a scrap just outside Buzzard territory.” She can hear the sounds of him unstrapping his brace, then the soft ruffle of him shucking off his wasteland-dirty clothes in a pile. He goes to the water pitcher and drinks two cups of water, then washes his hands and face in the basin.

“What happened?”

He eases into bed next to her, wearing just his shorts. “Nothing serious. Just had to detour a bit.”

She runs her hand over his face and torso in the dark, feeling for cuts and bruises. He catches it and brings it to his lips. “S’okay,” he whispers against her palm between kisses.

He nudges her to lie down next to him, curls up against her back, draping an arm around her ribcage. The tightness there unclenches when she exhales, tension she hadn’t even realized she was holding onto. She breathes in and out again, willing herself to relax into the feeling of him warm and safe and alive against her.

“M’okay,” he says, pulling the blanket over both of them. “Go back to sleep.”

 

She opens her eyes to morning light coming in the window. His arm is still draped loosely over her, and he is warm, so warm; she always forgets how cold her bed gets without him next to her. She takes a moment to savor it, his heat pooled under the blanket and his body soft with sleep against her.

Well, most of it is soft.

She snuggles up against him so her ass is nestled against his crotch where he’s starting to get an erection, the way he does in the morning sometimes. Particularly after being away from her, she thinks, and it stirs something warm inside her.

The press of her body doesn’t seem to wake him, so she rocks her hips a little, rubbing against him.

“Morning to you too,” he mumbles.

His arms slide around her, pulling her against the length of his body as his mouth finds the back of her neck, the spot behind her ear that makes her sigh.

“Did you miss me?” A low rumble against her neck between kisses.

“Always.”

His hands slide under her shirt, skimming over ribs, stomach, back. A calloused thumb runs up to tease a nipple and she arches back.

“Did you think about me?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Mm. What was I doing?”

“Pretty much this.” His mouth is on her earlobe and his hand is kneading her breast, and gods dammit, he is making her itch.

She drags one of his hands down into her shorts, and he laughs against her skin. “Impatient,” he mutters, his fingers not going low enough to do anything but tease. “Should make you wait.”

“Don’t you dare,” she hisses, squirming to try to get his hand in the right spot. He pulls it away and she makes a noise of frustration, but then she feels his thumbs hook into her shorts and pull them down, followed by his own.

(She used to hate it, the mere thought of someone being behind her where she couldn’t see their motions and anticipate. But with him it sends a charge through her, not knowing exactly where his hands or his mouth will go next. Strange how trust changes the shape of things.)

His hand slips between her legs from behind, and she opens for him, the tips of his fingers running between her labia and finding her slick and hot. “Mm. You missed some of me for sure.”

“I missed all of you—” She breaks off as she feels his cock nudge against her and then slide in, filling her up, feels him start moving, slow and easy. “—just...some parts...in specific ways.”

He wraps his arms around her and thrusts into her like that, slow at first and then fast as they both lose the ability to do anything else, and it’s all hushed ragged breathing and quiet moans until he gets his fingers on her clit at the end, and then she is not quiet at all.

Afterward she rolls over, desperate to kiss him, catching her breath between long slow tastes of his mouth. She pulls him on top of her, and that’s when she notices the clotted bloody slash across his back, peeking out from where the blanket has slid away.

 _“Max.”_ She makes an angry noise in the back of her throat and punches him in the shoulder, maybe a little harder then she intended.

“Ow.”

She scoots out from underneath him and pulls the blanket down so she can get a better look at the wound. “You said you were okay.”

“Was til you punched me.”

“I’m talking about your back.”

“S’shallow.” He seems more interested in falling back asleep.

“Wasn’t a Buzzard car, was it?” Those rusty spikes can kill so easily. He should have told her last night, gods dammit.

“Knife,” he says without elaboration.

“You need to clean it.”

“Cleaned it with guzz.”

“That doesn’t count.” She slides out of bed and gets the cloth and the small bottle of disinfectant solution from over by the washing basin.

She wets the cloth and scrubs off the smeared dried blood so she can see the wound properly. “Gonna start bleeding again f’you do that,” he mutters.

“Shush.” It is shallow, a glancing slash as he spun out of range, she guesses. He’s still being fucking irresponsible.

She dabs it with disinfectant, patting away the fresh blood that blooms—not so much to make her worry, but she sees how many muscles it crosses, how easy it will be for him to pull it open again, and how fucking filthy his clothes are.

“I’ll get some bandages from the infirmary when it opens. Just…stay still for now until it clots again.”

“Mm.”

“Irresponsible smeg.”

He laughs into the pillow and she contemplates punching him again. Instead she says, “I would be very sad if you did something stupid like dying of infection.” And then she is mortified to find herself blinking away a sudden hot flicker of tears at the thought.

He notices, the stupid observant fool. “Hey.” He reaches a hand up to brush her cheek, and fuck, that only makes it worse. She bites her lip.

“I’ll be careful,” he says. “I am careful. Mostly.”

“I know.” She swallows hard and squeezes his hand, lies down next to him curled up against his shoulder.

“Just, ahh, been a while,” he mutters, looking away from her gaze. “Since anyone cared.”

“I care.” She puts a hand on his chin, makes him look her in the eye. “Don’t forget it.” He nods.

In the morning light his eyes look more green than blue, and his hair is all tousled from sleep and sex, the bit in the back sticking up more aggressively than usual. She reaches out to smooth it down. It’s a fruitless endeavor, but it’s reassuring to touch him.

“I would miss you. A lot.” She runs her fingers through his hair. “All of you.”

“Mm. The same.” He’s kissing her hand again, the knuckles this time, and it’s just as soft and sweet as last night.

She tucks herself closer against him and pulls the blanket back over them, being careful to ease it gently over the cut on his back. He got in so late last night. No one will care if they stay in bed a little while longer.


End file.
